


Portersville, Kentucky

by DixieDale



Series: The U.N.C.L.E. Agent's Cautionary Guide To Travel [2]
Category: The Girl from U.N.C.L.E., The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Horror, Supernatural Elements, curiosities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 10:24:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The assignment had been highly successful, even amusing in parts.  The long car trip back to New York?  Well, the four UNCLE agents had several words for that trip.  Amusing was not on the list.There were already entries for Louisville, Kentucky, and they had nothing to add to those.  However, Portersville, Kentucky was definitely going to be a new entry to The U.N.C.L.E. Agent's Cautionary Guide to Travel.





	Portersville, Kentucky

Portersville, Kentucky, USA  
≠ Overall Rating  
§ Food - Portersville Eatery  
§ Lodging - Portersville Motel  
£HC Lodging - Grandma's Bed and Breakfast  
¶ Here Be Dragons!

Yes, that about said it all, if you were trying to put it in a nutshell. 

To decipher that brief review for those unfamiliar with the Guide -

Overall Rating - No, do not even CONSIDER stopping or passing through here, and if you DO, don't say we didn't warn you!  
Food - Bring the bicarb and be prepared for a stint in hospital with food poisoning. If you live that long.  
Lodging - Motel - Ick! Even double ick!  
Lodging - Bed and Breakfast - Homey, Clean, with UnFriendly Presence of the supernatural persuasion.  
Safety Level- Here Be Dragons! Bring your weapons, your articles of faith and stalwart backup.

Naturally, there was more in the actual entry, more details. Especially about that 'Homey, Clean, with UnFriendly Presence', since the level of friendliness or unfriendliness was perhaps debatable. But when you're careening down the road with Thrush on your tail, or you have a wounded partner in the car, or are just about to drop from exhaustion, you need something brief in order to make a split second decision about whether to turn off toward that town or not.

Of course, with them, Napoleon Solo and his partner, Illya Kuryakin, accompanied by April Dancer and her partner, Mark Slate, none of those particular motivations had actually applied to their ending up in Portersville, Kentucky. No, it was more a trick of Fate or Nature, with an able assist from Mr. Waverly and the Accounts Department of the U.N.C.L.E. A dire combination in many respects, all four agents had agreed.

It hadn't even happened ON an assignment, if you wanted to get technical about it. It was on the way home from that relatively simple job (well, as simple as their jobs actually got, especially the ones connected to an overly-imaginative scientist and Thrush) that things got difficult. The trip home that Mr. Waverly had termed "a pleasant drive through the spring countryside. I rather envy you, you know. Should be lovely this time of year. Rather like a paid vacation, wouldn't you say?"

Well, no, they wouldn't, not necessarily, but at least none of them expressed their true feelings to their superior.

In any case, the happenings on that May 'excursion' by New York UNCLE agents Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin, April Dancer and Mark Slate provided some of the information for that highly-specialized little Travelers' Guide known primarily to the agents from that organization, and anyone traveling anywhere near Portersville, Kentucky would have been wise to read that entry most carefully, and take heed.

Louisville, Kentucky:  
It had been a successful assignment, keeping Dr. Landry and various Thrush villains from tampering with the Kentucky Derby. UNCLE had heard about it from one of their numerous tipsters, and while the whole thing seemed highly improbable, so much of what THRUSH got involved in seemed highly improbable. 

It seems Dr. Augustus Landry, a Thrush wannabe, had supposedly found a way to create a 'creature' that could mimic the living model so closely that it could hardly be told apart from that model. No, not the laborious and lengthy new and unproven hypothesis of cloning, something much quicker, more reliable, at least according to him. In fact, he'd promised a working model, indetectable from the original within five months from the start of any project, and Thrust was most interested. But they wanted proof before they invested any funds in Landry's research, proof before they brought him into the fold.

Since the horses running in the Derby were so highly vetted, so carefully watched and monitored, the substituting of one of Dr. Landry's 'copies' for the real thing was an ideal test, a way of proving to Thrush that his process really worked, that even an expert wouldn't be able to detect the difference. He'd picked a relative newcomer to racing, not one of the best known horses but one that wouldn't garner so much attention. He managed to get some samples, take a lot of pictures, did considerable observing, and everything was going swimmingly. 

He hadn't started with anything so big as a horse, of course. He'd started with mice, worked up to cats, then dogs, and now he was working with horses. Of course, he didn't intend to stop with horses, and THAT was where Thrush would have an interest. Manufacturing an exact copy of Alexander Waverly, or Napoleon Solo, any number of political figures and individuals with huge influence, that was a very tempting concept. Dr. Landry wasn't concerned for the ethics of the matter, or potential uses Thrush might have for his process, of course; it was all about the science, and to continue his studies, he needed the money and equipment Thrush could provide.

Unfortunately for Dr. Landry, Trickster's Choice (Tricky to her friends and family), the filly he'd tried to duplicate, had a few personality quirks he hadn't taken into account. In particular, he'd not seemed to notice her penchant for making and keeping loyal friends. For example, he'd totally ignored Puddin, the cat who lived in Tricky's stall and traveled with her wherever she went, along with Boomer, the Nubian goat who wandered the entire stable in Louisville at will, but who had immediately developed a particular fondness for Tricky. 

April, prim and proper, black rimmed glasses firmly in place, clipboard in her hand in the guise of a Derby official, had been making the rounds of all the stalls for the past few days, had gotten to know the horses somewhat, had been amused at the interaction between the three animals. Now, seeing the supposedly same horse having a very different effect on those two, seeing and hearing the hissing cat with the arched back, and Boomer's stomping and angry miaa miaa as the pretty bay Thoroughbred entered her stall after the scheduled morning run, so different from what she'd observed earlier, put her wise. She moved to an out of the way spot and flicked open her communicator. 

"Gentlemen, I do believe we have a winner."

They'd played it smart, too, not letting anyone know just HOW they'd known Tricky had been replaced with a Landry Special. It would hardly be much of a discouragement for Thrush to find out their scheme had only been discovered under the auspices of a tortoise-shell cat and a floppy-eared goat. 

"Let them think there are perhaps tests that were commonly run that it failed, perhaps it just wasn't good enough for even a casual deception," Illya suggested, and that's just what they did. The supposed Trickster's Choice was led away, without explanation, her name quietly taken down from the list of the horses competing. Pretty much the discreet response to what might be an embarrassing situation for an owner or trainer.

Thrush had not been amused at Dr. Landry's supposed failure, so he wasn't able to continue work on his experiment due to an unfortunate collision with a bullet; Thrush DID tend to show their annoyance in a very final manner with someone they thought was trying to scam them. A little quick thinking by the UNCLE team located the good doctor's research facility in the basement of his country home, though unfortunately a fire destroyed the details of his experiments and his equipment. 

"Truly unfortunate, Mr. Solo, about Dr. Landry AND his laboratory; I'm sure the Committee will be displeased. Some of our own scientists were quite intrigued at the concept. However, perhaps, ultimately, it was for the best, considering the potential for ill-doing that process could eventually facilitate," Alexander Waverly mused back in New York as he took their initial report by communicator.

"Well, try to tidy up there, and get back here as soon as you can. And considering what Accounting just placed on my desk, I would suggest you rent a car for the four of you. None of you have enough leeway to be flying, you know. From my quick calculation, it would seem you have each approximately $27.85 to cover your trip. Use it wisely, gentlemen, Miss Dancer."

Napoleon closed his communicator, looked at his fellow agents, "hear that? Guess we're operating on a shoestring for awhile." 

"Well, there go our reservations at The Brown," April mourned. "I really was looking forward to that! It got excellent reviews in the Guide. Safe, comfortable, wonderful food! Ah, well!"

It was by mutual, if unspoken, agreement that they did not discuss that little joint operation at Landry's home, their gathering the research papers into a heap, finding a fast acting accelerant in a cupboard, letting Illya work a little magic of his own. None of THEM thought this process was ready for prime time either. Well, Mr. Waverly was always encouraging them to use their initiative. There was no real reason for him to know the details, that's all.

A little fast footwork turned up the real, if slightly bewildered, Trickster's Choice in a hired garage across town, and once Puddin and Boomer had given their own special nod of approval, BOTH horses went home with a slightly bewildered though slightly amused owner. Puddin was becoming cautiously accepting of the new addition since Tricky was being very laid-back about the whole thing.

While Matilda Farnsworth hadn't expected Tricky to win the Derby, she also hadn't expected to come home with Tricky AND Trixie; it became one of the favorite bedtime stories in her family, how a two year old filly suddenly became a twin. "Well, we've always heard there's just something magic about the Derby, and this only proves it. One morning soon after we got there, we opened the stall, and Tricky had a twin sister! Just like magic! Of course, the officials were so confused, they wouldn't let EITHER horse run, so we loaded up the sisters and came back home. No trophy, but with our sweet Trixie as our prize."

There were no papers, so Trixie would never be able to race, but no one minded that. Trixie became the favored pet of Matilda's granddaughter, and although she never raced, she had a good life, with no one trying to dissect her to find out what made her tick. 

She and Tricky died on the same day, within minutes of each other, after living to a ripe old age. When the Farnsworth family, old friends of the Waverlys, informed UNCLE of that fact (having always reported on Trixie's doings, as agreed upon), it seemed the potential for the process was rather limited - after all, if the life span of the copy was contingent on the life span of the model, one would have to have a rather elaborate system of care and accommodations for the replaced models except in the most uncommon of circumstances. "Most unwieldly!"

 

Portersville, Kentucky:  
The four agents had left Louisville in fairly good spirits, despite the constraints on their financial expenditures. Lunch at a small family restaurant not far out of the city had been simple but hearty and satisfying, the rental car was fairly new and clean, the weather was fine for a long drive. Well, until they hit the flooded area and had to turn south, venturing into an area they'd not intended to pass through at all. Yes, they'd checked the Guide for Louisville, of course, but this new route led them into new surrounds. 

This new territory would eventually find itself into the Guide as well, marked with the special symbol for 'Avoid', along with a few other symbols, including the one for 'Here Be Dragons' that some wag had instituted many years ago for certain types of encounters.

It seemed every road they took after leaving the main route ended up with a Detour sign, a selection of different barricades blocking the way. Exasperated, they'd taken a small road with a sign that actually had the name of a town printed on it - 'Portersville' - (versus the other types of signs that were less decipherable - probably those meant something to the locals, but not to any outsiders.). 

At the end, where there was another sign, "Portersville - Population Variable", there was a small grouping of buildings, a few weather-worn houses, a ramshackle motel with a pitted gravel parking area studded with weeds, what looked like an official building of some type, and a tiny restaurant announcing itself as the Portersville Eatery. 

Considering how long it had been since they'd eaten, it was unanimously decided the restaurant would be their first stop. That was possibly their first mistake, well, other than their taking that turnoff in the first place. It would scarcely be their last.

Dinner was, well, memorable, at least. Though none of the four WANTED to remember it; it was certainly something better forgotten, and as quickly as possible. Napoleon had held up his silverware to the yellowish light above and remarked, "ah, an authentic greasy spoon restaurant, I perceive." Mark was uneasily aware of the chill look that got them from the man behind the counter.

The menu was uninspiring, but they finally settled on chicken sandwiches, that seeming the safest. It was very odd tasting chicken and the bread was stale.

Illya, for one, really wanted to believe the skinned creatures hanging from hooks in the kitchen, quite visible through the pass-through behind the counter, were rabbits or squirrels, but frankly he had his doubts. Rodents, yes, he recognized the muscular structure, but not rabbits or squirrels necessarily. 

April had made her way to the restroom, stepped inside, turned around and went back to their table and sat back down. In answer to the questioning looks, she smiled weakly, "I changed my mind."

They'd been reluctant to travel on, decided they all needed some sleep before getting back on the road, so they moved the car over to the rutted parking area of the weatherbeaten motel. As they got out, trying to avoid the washed out spots filled with a slimy moisture, they looked around.

"Napoleon, I am not sure this is a good idea," Illya stated. Mark and April were looking more than a little apprehensive as well. 

"Well, it's not The Brown, but I don't see a lot of other choices. We've slept in worse places, guys."

"Well, alright," April reluctantly agreed. "But if the clerk is an overly friendly young man by the name of Norman, I'm leaving, with or without you."

Napoleon rolled his eyes, "'Psycho'? What have I told you guys about your joint penchant for horror movies? There won't be any problem, April, except with your overactive imagination."

"Sides, luv, I'll be glad to take a shower WITH you, just to be safe. You could wash my back while we're in there," Mark offered, cheeky grin on his face.

"I'm sure she will feel safe enough with the three of us in the next room," Illya said, repressively.

"I wasn't talking about HER feeling safe in there, Illya. I meant ME!" 

They were all four laughing when they entered the tiny office, though that quickly ceased when they got a good look around. No, the tall cadaverous man behind the counter wasn't young, shy, charming or named Norman, but since the clerk DID bear an uncanny resemblance to John Carradine in one of his more creepy roles, that wasn't necessarily an improvement. 

April quickly overrode Napoleon's request for two separate rooms, one with a roll-out, changing it to a quick "no, one room with a couple of roll-outs, please"; well, she could always put it down as a measure of economy, considering their straitened financial situation. The slow impassive look from the clerk didn't say much for his opinion of her being willing to share a room with the men. At this point, she didn't care, just gave him her brightest smile, and held out her hand for the key.

Once inside the depressingly dingy room, taking stock of the amenities, which seemed limited to a slow stream of lukewarm water in the shower, one thin towel and washcloth, and faded bedcovers, and a television about the size of a small suitcase, they settled in for the night. They didn't bother undressing, none of them trusting those sheets enough to crawl in between anyway. 

None of them could relax enough to sleep, so Mark opted to turn on the tiny tv set in the corner. The reception was truly awful, the picture faded and flickery, but considering the only thing they could bring in was a replay of the old 1932 movie 'Island of Lost Souls', that worked to the movie's advantage, as it was based loosely on the book by H G Wells, 'The Island of Dr. Moreau'.

In fact, Napoleon even remarked, "you know, I'm not sure which would be worse, being able to see it in all of its glory, for lack of a better word, or being able to only catch glimpses of what is happening."

"Well, it does add to the atmosphere, you must admit, old chap," Mark laughed.

A quick hard knock at the door had them reaching for their revolvers, but it was Napoleon who cautiously went to the door.

"Who's there?"

"Sheriff's Department. You open up now," came sternly, and Napoleon slowly opened the door to a tall, burly man with a heavy frown on his face.

"Is there a problem, officer?" he inquired pleasantly.

"Could say so. We don't allow your big city ways around here. You just pack up and be on your way, now."

Napoleon started to smooth the waters, started to reach into his jacket to bring out identification, but that move led to an amazing quick draw of the officer's own weapon and Napoleon found himself with an old, but probably still quite serviceable Colt 44 tucked under his chin.

"Um, officer, I believe there's been a misunderstanding. We were traveling, got turned around by the detours, just needed a place to spend the night before we continued on our way." That ingratiating overly-charming smile of his was at full force.

Something about the steady way the big man chewed his gum said that wasn't making any impact.

"Don't see that's our problem, mister. Like I said, we don't allow your big city ways around here. This here's Portersville, not Sodom and Gomorrah. You just pack up and leave, you and your fancy woman here. Anyone wants anything on the side around here, they take their custom to Lucy Bell, nine to midnight, Wednesday and Friday nights only, one at a time, just like always, and SHE don't put up with anything like the lot of you are likely to be pulling neither. We got impressionable kids around here, you know. Sides, she's my sister; can't have you cutting into her income, missy."

Hearing the tiny sounds behind him, not wanting to turn to see if they were sounds of indignation or pure entertainment, but figuring neither would make any inroads with this bastion of small town morality, Napoleon plastered a different smile on his face, one of congenial agreement.

"Of course, officer, uh, Porter," seeing the name on the badge, "just as you say. Um, the way we came was becoming impassible. Is there another way out of town?" He rather regretted the way he'd worded that; it was open to interpretations he'd rather not deal with. Still, he got an impassive stare, then a seemingly reluctant nod.

"Head on out that road up ahead, make the first right. That'll get you headed back in the direction you belong right enough."

They'd think about THAT wording at greater length later as well.

They were out and gone within ten minutes, the officer waiting to be sure they didn't change their mind. It was only when they were in the car and down the road, making that first right turn that April started to laugh. 

Her partner raised his brows in inquiry. "And just what's so amusing, luv?"

"Just imagining my father's face if he knew I was run out of a small town for setting myself up in competition to the local lady of the evening !"

Illya responded in a slighty surly voice. He had really been ready to get a few hours of sleep, and it now looked like that wasn't going to happen, at least in some place other than a moving car. 

"I suppose we should just see ourselves as lucky that Lucy Bell didn't show up in person. It could have gotten even more uncomfortable if she'd insisted on her perogatives along with objecting to her competition. Besides, I don't think the budget allows for any Lucy Bells on this trip. We're already out the money we paid for that motel room."

Another thirty minutes of slow cautious driving along the dark road brought a most welcome sight, a lovely old Victorian house off to the left. Normally they wouldn't have even seen it in the darkness, but all the lights were on, including a tall light on a post in the front yard and a trio of lights illuminating a sign. A sign that made them groan in anticipation, 'Grandma's Bed and Breakfast'.

"Talk about a sight for sore eyes!" Napoleon exclaimed, as Mark wheeled the car into the well-tended drive. "Let's just hope Grandma has room for us."

Illya deadpanned, "at least two rooms, preferably four, Napoleon. This might still be within the county limits of Portersville. We do not want another visit from the local constabulary. I, for one, want NO interruptions until after I get a good night's sleep."

Checking in was no problem. Glumly Illya reminded them, "checking in was no problem at the LAST place either." April had shushed him, the others had ignored him, and the lovely dark-haired lady at the counter only gave him a warm smile. She had a truly lovely smile, Napoleon noticed; her teeth were even and white, and her skin was perfection itself. Her eyes were quite beautiful too, sparkling green, a trifle wider than usual, making him think of a cat's eyes.

He leaned across the counter, smiling his own lovely smile, that 'aren't I just too handsome for words, and how about we skip the words and get right down to business' smile. The lady didn't seem non-receptive, but she DID cast a quick glance at Mark and Illya, then at April, a surprisingly appraising one. While she probably could have described them to anyone from the intensity of that look, she didn't make any comments, though she had to have picked up on Mark's amusement, Illya's less than amused reaction to Napoleon's flirting, and April's long-suffering roll of the eyes.

She'd been delighted to give them four rooms, even gave them a break on the price since they were all together and since, regrettably, she had no rooms with two twin beds, not even roll-outs.

"Besides, I rarely get custom on a Monday night; what do they say? A change is as good as a rest." 

Her agreeability in that regard mean they could, just barely, afford all four rooms, though Illya consoled himself when she reminded them that breakfast was included, "all you can eat, of course," and that although it was late, she'd prepare a small basket to bring to each of their rooms shortly, "in case you need just a little something warm and comforting to sustain you for the long night ahead." 

If that seemed a slightly odd way of expressing herself, well, perhaps it was common for this part of the state. They were directed to the second floor, hall on the right, keys given to each. 

"The tassel matches the color of the door. You should find your own proper place quite easily. I'll be there shortly with your baskets." April had been given the key with the green tassel, Illya the blue, Napoleon the red, Mark the gold.

April glanced into her room, well pleased at the bright attractiveness of the wallcoverings and the furnishings, a mixture of spring green and creamy white with rosy accents. She turned and looked at the three men who'd escorted her to her room, waited til she got the door open and stepped inside.

"Well, if yours is anything like mine, you should be comfortable. Mine looks lovely, and the bed most inviting. It will be interesting what our hostess includes in that little basket; I could use something decent to eat. Though, there isn't all that much of a 'long night' ahead, not as late as it is. See you in the morning, guys."

Indeed the rooms were quite satisfactory, the colors inside matching the door color, and they had all started with getting more comfortable, at least to the removing of jackets, unpacking their overnight cases when the baskets started to arrive, starting with Mark Slate.

The lovely lady, 'Elbie' it would seem her rather unusual name to be, had knocked softly, and upon getting a reply, opened the door and walked in, setting a small fabric-lined pine-needle basket on the bedside table.

"A small portion of home-made wine, a few spice biscuits. Just a little something to tide you over. Come, sit and eat and drink. I think you will find it to your liking." 

He'd have preferred to take a shower and climb into bed and enjoy the treat then, if at all, but it seemed a shame to disappoint the lovely lady. Still, she didn't linger, waiting only til he had finished half of the contents, then smiled and wished him a warm night, and left. He heard her knock on Illya's door across the hall, heard the door open, then he finally made his way in to take that long awaited hot shower.

He was back and just slipping between the sheets when he heard the knock on Napoleon's door, and just finishing the last of the biscuits and wine when he heard the knock on April's door along side his. He turned out the light, feeling reasonably sure he'd get a good night's sleep. Sleep came quickly, deeply. Far more deeply than he was accustomed to sleeping, considering his profession.

 

"Pretty golden boy," Mark heard the faint whisper in the dim room. "So pretty, so sleek. And I DO like your odd manner of speech. And your scent. It makes me hungry, did you know that? Tell me, golden boy, what pleases you? Tell me, that this might be most pleasurable to us both. I DO like to give fair measure in exchange. Or if you are shy, perhaps we will just, what is the term, play it by ear? Yes, I think we will do that. Who knows, you might find yourself enjoying more than you might think."

Somehow he couldn't quite wake up enough to sit up and ask what she was doing in his room. Oh, he knew it was Elbie, he recognized her voice, though it had an odd note to it, somewhere between a purr and a hiss. Still, why she was here, why she was asking him questions, he didn't know, and while he could see the shadow of her form across the room, he couldn't see her clearly. In fact, he couldn't seem to see anything clearly, in a way not even the night could account for satisfactorily. Except for her eyes. Her huge green eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.

The covers floated away from him, and she wasn't across the room anymore, she was hovering next to him. He realized, dimly, that that really WAS the appropriate word, 'hovering'. She was at least a good sixteen inches above the surface of the sheets, though stretched out on her side, her head resting on her cocked elbow as if she was resting ON the bed. 

Her touch, when it came, was heated, even hot, and electrifying, and impossible to resist. The room whirled, and reality took on a totally different meaning. In the confused state he was in, sometimes he even lost track of whether his bedmate was female or male. There were times he would have sworn one, yet then again, later he could have sworn he'd been mistaken; her voice never changed throughout, though her body seemed to. One thing he was sure of, Elbie was the one in control, certainly not him; he was only along as a passenger for whichever way she made that rollercoaster ride travel. He would have bypassed some of the more painful parts, certainly, if he'd been the one calling the shots. Still, she was never cruel, not quite, never causing him more pain than he could endure anyway, and always matching any such with equal pleasure. In the end, his senses were as confused as his mind, as he lost track of even who HE was.

He wasn't sure when she left; when the morning came, when he awoke, he could only flush at the fevered dreams he'd had. Noting the long ride in the car had taken its toll, he determined to take some aspirin for the various aches and pains, once he got food in his stomach. 

That reminded him of the basket Elbie had brought him. Taking a glance over at the basket now, noting the label on the wine, he made a note to NOT take a bottle home with him, considered that might have been the cause of his extremely odd dreams. 

It was only when he was taking a morning shower, the water causing him to gasp at the sharp sting against his skin, that he became truly awake, enough to take notice of the multitude of scratches covering his body, scratches and love bites and purpled markings he hadn't had before and other signs of a very busy night indeed.

Dressing quickly, he hurried next door to tap on April's door. Her 'come in' sounded distracted, and her eyes were wide and confused and more than a little worried. He caught sight of that small pine-needle basket, the small wine bottle laying on its side and the empty napkin that had probably held some of those spiced biscuits. 

"April? Are you alright?" The deep flush that came to her cheeks made him go closer, clasp her shoulders in his hands, look into her face carefully. "Bad dreams, luv?"

That flush got even deeper. "Dreams. I'm still trying to decide if they were bad or not." Well, he could understand that; he hadn't quite made up his mind either.

He carefully reached out to unbutton her blouse a couple of buttons, fold her collar back, and she stopped him with a quick movement.

"Mark! What on earth??!" But the look on her face told him a lot, told him everything.

"Want to compare scratches and all the rest, luv? Might have you beat, though don't know for sure," watching her eyes widen, then widen more as she took in the implications.

"Elbie? You too?"

"Seems like. Wonder about Napoleon and Illya?"

The partners hurried across the hall, but found Napoleon and Illya seemingly unconcerned about anything in particular, except perhaps getting down to breakfast. Napoleon's open shirt collar didn't seem to indicate any such marks as the two from across the hall bore. They DID note that the basket in Napoleon's room seemed untouched, and his bed only minimally disturbed, though Illya's was storm-tossed and the basket empty. Mark and April exchanged puzzled glances.

April whispered softly, "perhaps there just wasn't enough time? It seemed as if she was with me forever." 

Mark shrugged, 'haven't a clue, but you could be right. Seems hours she was with me too. But don't seem likely, her leaving the two of them out. Well, you know what I mean," giving her a wry glance. Yes, the lovely ladies DID seem to prefer those two, to Mark's occasional dismay.

Elbie served them a hearty breakfast, smiled warmly at Mark and April, but it seemed she was in a bit of a taking with Napoleon and Illya, setting their things down a trifle more crisply. In fact, while Mark and April each got their own generous and carefully arranged plates, Napoleon and Illya had to share one oblong platter, the offerings meager in comparison. The explanation of 'some breakage in the kitchen' had seemed odd but perhaps reasonable. But the hard note, and even harder, resentful look in her eyes as she added, "but I'm sure you won't mind sharing. I'm sure you're used to it, in any number of ways!" before she turned and flounced out of the room and just seemed to disappear. 

Mark and April just looked at their fellow agents, the odd flush on Napoleon's face, the carefully neutral look on Illya's, then at each other and shrugged, digging into the appetizing breakfast, graciously sharing some of their abundant servings with the two being slighted. The men were gathering their luggage when April went searching for their hostess to offer their thanks. 

They'd just gotten things loaded into the car, had started back up the walk to get April and offer their own thanks, when April Dancer barrelled down off the wide porch, down the walkway and called in a low, urgent voice, "quick, get to the car, we leave NOW!" They were too experienced to ignore that kind of instruction from a fellow agent, and so they did as she said.

It was April, though, who skidded to a stop, to give an incredulous look at the sign they'd spotted last night. It took Mark grabbing her arm and pulling her along to get her moving again.

"Come on, luv! Don't just stand there, move it!" her partner gasped, pulling her along after him. She didn't argue, just picked up her heels and ran after the others. They dove into the car and raced away.

Several miles away, after they'd all finally gotten their breath, Mark turned to her and asked, "what did you stop for, April? That's not like you! And by the way, why were we running in the first place??"

"You didn't see it, any of you? Elbie, her name. Or L - B. Lucy Bell."

A variety of puzzled looks told her that she was the only one who saw, or maybe the only one who'd connected the dots. She spelled it out, impatiently.

"The sign. We only saw part of it last night. Grandma's Bed and Breakfast. Established 1852 by Your Hostess - Lucy Bell Porter. Lodging and Meals. Potions, Charms and Curses Also Available. Aphrodisiacs and Taxidermy My Specialities." 

When she told them what she'd seen in that downstairs room, what she'd been told, Napoleon let his foot ride even heavier on the gas pedal.

"There were, well, trophies, you might say. Of the ones who had visited but had disappointed her, well, at least parts of them. She assured me that we, Mark and I, could visit anytime, that we'd repaid her quite well," and she flushed as she said that, and Mark turned bright pink, "but that YOU two, well, she had PLANS for you two. Said she'd never been so insulted, for you to come visiting and then turn up your noses at what she'd intended to place in front of you, just because . . ." 

She'd flushed again, not intending to finish that thought, but now understanding what their hostess had meant by that platter and the talk of 'sharing'. Luckily, Napoleon and Illya were silenced by that description, enough they didn't ask Mark or herself about THEIR night and why THEY'D be welcome back. Just as well. Neither partner really wanted to discuss it anyway.

Yes, there would certainly be an entry in the Guide about Portersville, Kentucky. Among the other comments, there would be a strong stressing of the code - Here Be Dragons. Of course, there was a discussion of whether it should be UNfriendly versus Friendly. As Mark said, it really depended on the individual and their experience, and April agreed, but the general consensus was that it was best to leave it at UNfriendly, and to temper the longer description. Didn't want any of the more adventurous of their group actually seeking out Lucy Bell and her Bed and Breakfast; all kinds of things could go wrong there.

As for Mr. Waverly, well, he got a slightly revised version of the encounter; what he needed to know, certainly, but with quite a bit of editing. It wasn't like HE was ever likely to be in Portersville, after all. They could hardly imagine their dignified leader reading the sometimes quite graphic Guide anyway. (Little did THEY know!!!)

And back in Portersville, Kentucky, Mitch Porter picked up the phone to hear his sister's voice at the other end.

"Mitch, that was ever so thoughtful of you, sending me that special treat."

"Well, it's getting on close to your birthday, hon; figured you might like something a little different this year. You have yourself a good time, Lucy Bell?"

There was a slight pause, "well, it seems two of them were otherwise occupied, but the pretty blond English boy and the girl, they made up for that. But you should probably remove the sign from out near the road for awhile, just in case any come looking. The girl got a good look at my trophies, and she just might be the interfering type. Got some spunk to her, I'd say; I do like that, though it can be inconvenient at times. Wouldn't mind THOSE two passing through again sometime, but I doubt they will." A deep sigh, but then her voice perked up.

"You know, I just might plan another trip to the big city. Haven't been to New York in almost eighty years; bet there's all kinds of changes been made. Might just look those two up; they'd be worth the trouble." Her voice changed, got a little more ominous.

"Might just look those OTHER two up as well. Seems they still owe me!"

Mitch grinned, "that's my baby sister! You gonna be able to track them down alone or you want my help?" 

A snort at the other end of the line showed she shared his amusement at the idea of her NOT being able to do that little thing. "You know what Grandma taught us; always take a good long whiff, get their scent down real deep; never know when you might like another little taste. Course, we haven't had a good road trip in some time. Want to come along? As Mitch or Michelle, whichever you prefer this time, or both. Think I'll stick with Lucy Bell, though Lucas just keeps showing up, you know, especially when I'm inspired! Those two last night were REALLY inspiring!

"Just might do that, Lucy Bell; sounds like fun. After the tourist season is over, though; you know how much fun some of those who come wandering this way can be sometimes! Ever wonder how they manage, those others, having to be just one or the other all the time? Must be boring as hell!"


End file.
